


love dares you

by effanineffableplans (Dawn_Blossom)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, book canon, but the portrayal of heaven and hell is entirely inconsistent with the show, takes elements from the show, the bodyswap for example
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Blossom/pseuds/effanineffableplans
Summary: When all was said and all was done, Heaven came after Crowley, and Hell came after Aziraphale.





	love dares you

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy... You ever have to drop everything you're doing and write a 4k word fic for a fandom you just joined a week ago?
> 
> Okay, so funny story... I saw people posting gifs and art about the Good Omens show, and it looked great, and I remembered that I'd had the book on my to-read list for about 5 years so I decided I'd go ahead and buy the ebook and finally read it. But _I can't watch the show_ because I don't have Amazon Prime. That being said, I went ahead and read a lot of fanfiction anyway, irrespective of whether it was book or show canon. And also I've looked at all the stuff that's come across my tumblr dashboard, which is mostly show canon. And, unfortunately for me, I decided that I didn't really like the way the show portrays Heaven and Hell. But instead of going online and Complaining About Shows I Haven't Watched, I decided there was enough ambiguity in the book that I could just write whatever I wanted to anyway. So I did.
> 
> Obviously I took a few things from the show (or from what I've distilled out of everyone talking about the show, anyway). The bodyswap thing, obviously. Also most of the pronouns (the only thing inconsistent was that book!Beelzebub is referred to as "he," but... I went with "she" on the theory that you ought to use the most recent pronoun someone has told you to use.)
> 
> The title of course comes from [Under Pressure](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a01QQZyl-_I) by Queen because 1) I _did_ watch the show's trailer and ahhhh; 2) it's the only Queen song I would say I love; and 3) "love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves" happens to be what I think the theme of the book actually is.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic! This is not my usual writing style and I don't think I'm going to try it again, but it was an interesting and fun experience for me to write.

It was the eighth day of the rest of the world, and it occurred to Crowley that Hell may not have forgotten about him after all.

Adam had cleaned up after the aborted apocalypse, but the boy _is_ only 11. In setting the world back to the way it was before, he had missed a few little nuances. Aziraphale had gotten some new books, for example. And Ligur, Fallen Angel and Duke of Hell, had gotten restored to existence.

This was not great news for Crowley, who still remembered with perfect clarity his little gambit with the holy water. It stood to reason that if _he_ remembered what happened, his fellow demons probably did too. And since he arrived home to find nothing trapped inside his ansaphone, he assumed that Hastur had made it back to Hell, as well. 

But if he had any doubts, hearing demonic voices over Aziraphale’s radio quickly put them to rest.

“WHAT SORT OF IDIOT WOULD HIDE IN A BOOKSTORE WITH SUCH AN OBVIOUS NAME?” Ligur asked in a static-y kind of way.

“SHUT UP BEFORE SOMEONE HEARS YOU! WE AREN’T SUPPOSED TO—” 

Crowley had thrown the blessed thing out the door before Hastur could say anything more.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, looking up from his book upon Crowley’s return. “Was that—?”

“Radio drama,” Crowley muttered. “You’d hate the characters.”

And then, not because he wanted to, but rather because the idea of Hell encroaching upon Aziraphale’s space to get to Crowley was completely unacceptable, he continued.

“Think I’ll head out now. My plants are developing an attitude. The bastards think I don’t know what they get up to while I’m not there. Ha! We’ll see how they like it when I walk in on them early.”

“Oh, do be kind to them. Their leaves have been so green lately,” Aziraphale said. He then closed his book entirely in favor of standing up. “Shall we meet again for lunch tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed immediately, suspecting that most demons didn’t actually know enough about lunches to bother him during one.

There was a beat of silence in which the angel and the demon were both uncomfortably aware that neither really wanted Crowley to leave.

“See you tomorrow, angel,” Crowley said before someone got it in their head to suggest he stay a little longer.

* * *

It was the ninth day of the rest of the world, and Aziraphale began to wonder if perhaps Heaven did not, in fact, forgive him for interfering in the apocalypse.

He should have been having a lovely lunch with Crowley. He was indeed having a lunch with Crowley, but it was made decidedly less lovely by nature of the fact that his higher-ups were blatantly spying on him.

“Gabriel, _what_ am I supposed to do with this?” Michael asked, gesturing to the silverware on the table.

“Relax and just do what the humans do,” Gabriel said dismissively. He picked up a knife and a spoon.

“You didn’t tell me we would have to _eat_ ,” Michael said crossly.

“It’s called blending in. You know how scared humans get when they know we’re angels,” Gabriel said. “Come on, even _Aziraphale_ manages this; how hard can it be?”

Aziraphale and Crowley traded looks. 

“Do they know everyone can hear them?” Crowley asked.

“Nobody will remember for long, anyway.” Aziraphale sighed.

“ _We_ will,” Crowley muttered.

Deciding that there were entirely too many angels dining at the Ritz today, they made quicker work of their meal than usual, and were glad to soon leave the place behind.

* * *

If that had been all they had heard from Above and Below, Crowley and Aziraphale might have waved the whole thing away as an unsubtle reminder that they were not truly free. But it seemed that Heaven and Hell were each quite behind on their intimidation quotas, and threatening the angel and demon always conveniently present in London was the easiest way to fill them.

* * *

“So,” Crowley said, taking a long drink of a vintage wine significantly better than stated on the bottle.

“So,” Aziraphale said, miracling both their glasses full again.

“They’re after us,” Crowley said. “Not a surprise from my side, really. Not only did I lose the Antichrist, I murdered a demon. Murder’s usually a good thing with them, but well, I don’t think we’ve ever lost a demon who wasn’t trying to get lost. Torture, sure, but never with holy water. Your side, though— Your side, I’d think— It isn’t as though Hell _won,_ you know, and—”

“No, but now I’ve gone and confused them all,” Aziraphale said. “They were all so sure that the Great Plan was the Ineffable Plan, and now I’ve gone and told them it isn’t. And either I’m right and they’ve been wrong all these years, or I’m wrong and I’ve somehow managed to thwart ineffability itself. Oh no, I imagine they don’t like that at all.”

“They can’t tell up from down anymore,” Crowley said, thinking that it had been like that for him once, too.

“Oh, they’ll be perfectly alright,” Aziraphale said. “Ineffability isn’t nearly so complicated as it seems. God has seen us through all our choices this far, after all. All my brethren need is the same faith in Her they’ve always had.”

Crowley, who had never had faith in God and didn’t plan to start now, had nothing much to add. But seeing as he _did_ have faith, at least as much as he was capable of, in Aziraphale, he nodded in agreement.

“Sure, and besides,” he said. “Agnes Nutter saw a future past this, didn’t she? I did read some of that book. I skipped to the end to read about Armageddon, but I guess I get now why I had to flip several pages back to find it.”

“I’m not sure a witch’s prophecies are something the other angels would like to listen to, but— “ Aziraphale’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, _Crowley!_ Oh, _oh!_ ”

“Figured out the universe have you, angel?” Crowley decided he wasn’t yet drunk enough to grin broadly at Aziraphale’s look, so he settled for a smaller smile instead.

“Not quite all of it, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “But oh, if I’m right, if this is what she meant— “

A minute later, Aziraphale returned with _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch._ He sobered himself up, Crowley following after him, and turned to one of the last pages.

_"When alle is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre."_

“I had rather thought we chose our faces when we chose the Earth,” Aziraphale said. “But with the end of the world being averted and all, there wasn’t as much fire as I expected.”

“Your flaming sword doesn’t count?” Crowley asked.

“I suppose it _could,_ ” Aziraphale said hesitantly. “But you see, this one happens after _all is said and done._ I daresay that things were _not_ done at that point. It wasn’t until Adam worked his power that everyone settled down again.”

Crowley hummed in thought.

“Well, Hell’s certainly full of fire,” he said. Except the parts of it that were frozen, but Crowley had never heard of those parts being used much for torture. “Heaven, though— They shouldn’t have— Unless— But no— How mad are they at you?”

“Plenty mad, I should think,” Aziraphale said quietly. “What I said to them… What I made them question… I could start another war, you know. Make them all Fall. If they can’t find enough faith on their own.”

“But not mad enough to—” Crowley didn’t even want to say it. Who knew who could be listening to them, and he didn’t want to give anyone ideas about Aziraphale and hellfire.

“Would you put it past them?” Aziraphale asked. “The Crusades were my side’s, dear boy.”

“No they weren’t,” Crowley snapped. “The humans did that on their own and you know it.”

“Still, who inspired them?” Aziraphale asked. “Who came up with flaming swords in the first place?”

“People would have thought of them eventually,” Crowley muttered, but he saw the angel’s point.

“The point is, I would not be terribly surprised if they’re planning to greet me with hellfire up there,” Aziraphale said. “Not that I would visit on my own, but then, I suppose that would explain why they’ve been coming _here._ ”

“It’ll be holy water for me, then,” Crowley said. “I’m a rogue agent at this point. Can’t let me go on; I know too much and I have the means to take them all down. Some of them down. Just one of them down, actually, and he came back, but—”

It was a strange feeling. He always thought his boss viewed him as a plant. It wasn’t really his fault he wasn’t flourishing like the other plants despite everyone’s best efforts to yell at him, so it sort of made sense for them to replant him here on Earth. Far enough away that the others wouldn’t get any ideas, but still close enough to look at if the mood struck you. Of course, it wasn’t that he thought Hell had mercy. It was just that being the Serpent of Eden had really done him a lot of favors over the past millennia. But he should have known that the reputation alone couldn’t carry him forever. Funny how of all the questions he’d ever thought to ask, _what’s it like to not exist?_ had never been one of them.

“Sorry my dear, but I’m afraid I can’t accept that,” Aziraphale said. “I fought for this world’s existence and I’ll fight for ours, too.”

Sometimes, Aziraphale would get a look in his eyes that made Crowley think he was the only true warrior Heaven had left. No demon could possibly resist him like that.

“You know I’m with you,” Crowley said. “But what does that have to do with this prophecy?”

Aziraphale smiled.

“I have an idea.”

* * *

“Alright, I’m here!” Crowley announced to the street, spreading his arms wide. It was probably too dramatic for Aziraphale _normally,_ but as he knew the angel was in fact very angry, he figured it was just as well to act up a little. Aziraphale could certainly do worse than this. “I’m ready to meet my Maker!”

Across the street, a woman stared at him in horror. If he were actually Aziraphale, he might have felt bad for frightening her. In any event, she wouldn’t remember the event for longer than a few minutes, anyway.

Just as he expected with the way Heaven and Hell had been stalking them lately, it took only seconds for someone to wrap an arm around his throat.

Completely unexpected, however, was who the arm belonged to.

“Nothin’ your maker can do for you now, Angel,” Hastur hissed. “You’re coming with me.”

Crowley had always found Hastur to be the most unpleasant sort of demon out there. But when he chanced a glance back at his attacker, he actually gaped.

He had never seen such singular hatred in the demon’s eyes before.

Obviously, things were not going according to Aziraphale’s plan.

“Oh, bugger all this,” Crowley said, because that was Aziraphale for “shit, fuck.”

* * *

Aziraphale tried to imitate Crowley’s swagger as he sauntered down the sidewalk. He didn’t think he was quite as good, but he suspected it was enough to fool a bunch of demons who had mostly left Crowley alone for as long as he had been on Earth, anyway.

As he walked along, he accidentally bumped another pedestrian along the street. He wasn’t sure whether Crowley would have said something or not, but he gave the man a small, apologetic wave because he really thought Crowley might have. The man was wearing such a sorrowful expression that there would have been no reason to tempt him to anything, anyway.

Just as he expected, it didn’t take long for someone to grab him from behind.

He just hadn’t been prepared for it to be _angelic_ arms.

“Judgment Day for you has come, Serpent!” Michael announced. “We’ve finally received clearance to rid this world of you!”

Aziraphale glanced up almost automatically. In all the time he had known Michael, she had never treated him with respect. None of the archangels had. But the expression she wore now turned his blood to ice.

He had never seen hatred on an angel’s face before.

This was not at all what Aziraphale had planned. 

“Shit, fuck,” Aziraphale cursed, because “bugger all this” would have been too much of a giveaway.

* * *

Hell was very hot, as usual. Unusually, Crowley bore the appearance of an angel, and he wasn’t sure how to act. Should he be writhing in pain from the heat alone? Should every step torture his feet? Should he be screaming?

He didn’t know, and neither did anyone else. There had never been a proper angel in Hell before. 

Crowley decided to walk with his head held high. So what if he and Aziraphale had misunderstood who wanted to punish them. Here he was in Hell, where they had plenty of hellfire. The plan was still the same, in essence. A demon won’t burn in infernal flame in Heaven _or_ Hell.

Still, he didn’t understand what Hell could possibly have against Aziraphale. Besides being an angel, of course, but there were thousands of angels who notably had _not_ been captured and brought down here.

“We know what thou hazzt done,” Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, buzzed.

For a terrible second, Crowley thought the whole jig was up. He started racking his brain for a good explanation, or for _any_ explanation, but staring at Lucifer’s second-in-command wasn’t doing anything to calm him down. The only thing worse would have been to see the big boss here himself. Hastur and Ligur were in attendance too, and Dagon, and a few younger demons that Crowley couldn’t recall ever meeting.

“So the thing is—” Crowley began.

“Silenzze, Angzel,” Beelzebub interrupted. 

Crowley did fall silent, but only because he realized his deception had not actually been discovered. 

“You murdered me!” Ligur spat.

“Er, pardon—” Crowley really needed to get everything clear here, lest he say the wrong thing. “I’m fairly certain it was _Crowley_ who murdered you. With the, ah—”

“Holy water,” Hastur growled.

“We obviously know where he got it,” Dagon said. “It wasn’t from us, or it would have been noted in—”

Dagon, Lord of the Files, quickly shut her mouth before she revealed anything more about the esoteric contents of the Files.

“That izz confidentzial,” Beelzebub said, glaring at everyone, but especially Dagon.

“Sorry, lord,” Dagon muttered.

Fascinating as it was that Aziraphale and Crowley might not have been the only angel and demon to come up with an Arrangement, Crowley really wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Aren’t you here to kill me, anyway?” he asked.

Several sets of eyes turned to him.

“That izz correct,” Beelzebub said. “Thou shzalt burn for thizz, Anzgel. Thou hazzt led one of uzz azztray. We know Crowzley. He izz too pathetic to kill even a worthlezzzz earthly plant. We know it wazz thine idea. It izz you angzelzz who seek to end our very exzizztenze.”

“Now, hold on,” Crowley said. He didn’t like that everyone knew about his plants, and he didn’t like that they called him pathetic, but worst of all was them thinking Aziraphale was at fault for anything he had ever done. “You can’t threaten someone with agonies worse than what the lowest of the damned are suffering and then not expect him to fight back the only way he can. And if you had spent much time on Earth, you would know it’s not that difficult to acquire holy water. And aside from during the whole attempted Armageddon, I’ve never seen any angels try that hard to get rid of any of you. It’s all about the humans, isn’t it? They’re the ones who get swayed. Crowley is— Crowley is a demon, and I didn’t make him do anything. That doesn’t even sound possible. So— So there.”

Crowley nodded matter-of-factly. There was really no room for argument if Aziraphale put his foot down. For good measure, Crowley shifted his foot slightly so he could put it back down again.

Beelzebub continued as if she hadn’t even heard him.

“We’re never good enough for you folkzz. It’zz always about the goodnezzzz with you. You are the onezz who smite. You are the onezz who condemn. You are the onezz who invented hate. Now you have gone too far. Prinzipality, thou hazzt drawn our Serpent into your blinding light. Thou muzzt burn before he is lozzt.”

There was a lot to unpack there, if Crowley had cared to contemplate it, but at the moment he was gripped by such wrath that it might have even impressed the room’s occupants, given how little they obviously thought of him.

“You can’t pretend you’re doing this for Crowley,” he said as he seethed. “You’re not. He would never want this. And he will never forgive you for this.”

“That’s not really _our_ department,” Dagon said, giving a nasty smile.

The other demons exchanged glances, all seeming to agree that yes, Crowley never forgiving them would be a significant improvement in his demonic performance.

“I suppose that’s that, then,” Crowley said. Meeting Beelzebub’s gaze, he placed a hand on his hip.“Show me your worst, dear.”

Beelzebub pointed.

It was, predictably, hellfire. It brought warmth to demons, agony to humans, and a final end to angels.

Crowley stepped forward. 

The flame obviously didn’t hurt him. What did, somewhat, was the fear and awe in each of the demons’ expressions. Nothing he had ever done made them look this way. He doubted anything he would ever do would, and he assumed if they knew the truth of the current matter, they would look at him again with contempt and blame everything on Aziraphale. Anthony J. Crowley would never receive their respect. The Principality Aziraphale, on the other hand, now had it.

“Well, that’s alright now,” he said. “Of course you don’t understand. The ineffable plan doesn’t really make any sense, you see. But look, all this time you’ve been arguing over Good and Evil as though one was bound to win in the end. Maybe that was your mistake. Assuming there has to be an End. You haven’t seen the world like Crowley and I have. The humans think up all kinds of things on their own. They create infinite amounts of good and evil just by living their lives. Now, I’m not telling you what to do, but just think. All these human souls need somewhere to go. Wouldn’t it be lovely if both our sides have actually been doing the right thing all along?”

The demons looked at him like they didn’t think it would be lovely at all. But they _were_ thinking, and that was all Crowley wanted. Thinking would lead to questioning, another skill that demons were particularly good at. If Crowley had been captured by angels, he would be having a much harder time; they believed too much in blindly sticking to the status quo. But demons, by their very nature, were prone to doubt.

“Can’t you at least _try_ to see what Crowley sees?” Crowley asked. “He’s a demon, too.”

And the thing was, he was sure that his fellow demons would learn to enjoy Earth, if they would just give it a chance. Television alone would bring them countless hours of infernal glee, and lately Crowley had been contemplating some big computer-related schemes that would infuriate people across _generation gaps_. He had tried explaining all this to them in the past.

But this was the first time they were listening.

* * *

Heaven was vast and bright, just as it had been the last time Aziraphale had seen it. Of course, to his knowledge, Crowley could not remember seeing it at all, and he wondered if he ought to marvel a little. Only, upon further reflection, he decided Crowley was much too cool for that sort of thing. The more important question was whether Aziraphale, supposedly a demon dragged to Heaven for the first time, ought to be making more of a spectacle of himself in pretend agony?

Ultimately, he supposed it didn’t matter. If the holy water he expected to be faced with wasn’t going to hurt him, there was no reason anything about Heaven should seem to. Besides, there had never been a demon in Heaven before. Who was to say that they would not be perfectly fine given the proper permission to enter?

Frankly, Aziraphale did not want to imagine all the paperwork that must have been done to get him up here. That it didn’t take years to complete was probably due to a miracle, unless they had simply _already_ filled it all out in mere anticipation of an opportunity to one day file it. 

Either way, there was already a bathtub full of holy water waiting for him when he arrived, and everything looked to be quite in order. Michael remained at his back, while Gabriel and Uriel stared coldly at him from the other side of the room. Raphael was absent, but it seemed like he always was, and Aziraphale couldn’t imagine that he would care to watch an execution, anyway. 

“The Metatron’s not here?” Aziraphale asked. He was genuinely curious, for he would have expected the Voice of God to be the most adamant about punishment.

“You know what you’ve done, you wretched fiend!” Michael exclaimed. “You’ve given him an existential crisis!”

“You’re serious?” Aziraphale exclaimed. “But he's not an angel! It isn’t like he could Fall…”

Or at least, Aziraphale supposed that the Metatron would not be capable of such a thing. Of course, until now, he thought him quite incapable of entertaining self-doubt, too.

“You think you’ve bested us, don’t you?” Gabriel snarled. “It’s not enough to attack _our_ faith; you had to target the Metatron. Imagine the chaos when one who cannot Fall loses faith, is that what you figured?”

“You’ve been ruining things since the Garden,” Uriel said.

“You’ve been ruining things for longer than that, even,” Gabriel said. “You and your ilk. You lost paradise and now you can’t let anyone else have it!”

“Whoa, whoa!” Aziraphale raised his hands. “Don’t you think you’re putting a little too much blame on me here? It takes two to tango, you know! Angels can’t _make_ anyone do anything, and neither can demons. And— And I’m not even responsible for whatever's going on with the Metatron! Aziraphale was the one who brought up the ineffable plan in the first place!”

“You dare bring up our Brother?” Michael asked. “He’s been in the throes of your wiles since Eden!”

“You tricked him into letting you in,” Gabriel said. “And you deceived him into giving up his sword, too. You tricked him into lying to us all.”

Aziraphale almost grimaced. He always wondered if anyone truly believed him. He always wondered if they put him on Earth because they couldn’t trust him in Heaven. But the worst part of the whole thing was that they apparently didn’t even want to punish him for his own misdeeds, not as long as Crowley was there to take the fall.

“He made his own decisions!” Aziraphale insisted. “I can’t sway him any more than he can sway me. Sometimes he makes interesting points, and sometimes I do, and that’s— That’s the point! It’s all part of the ineffable plan! We can do the right thing, and we can make mistakes, but no matter what happens, the world marches on to the beat of the bloody ineffable plan! It’s not my fault if you don’t have faith in it! Aziraphale does!”

He always had, and if anyone had ever bothered to listen to him, he could have explained it. But Crowley was the only one who took him seriously. And it was no coincidence that Crowley was the reason he believed so strongly in the ineffable.

It was really such a shame that Aziraphale’s fellow angels had no interest in his words.

“Okay, fine,” Aziraphale said with a huff. “You want me in the water already. I get it.”

This whole process was probably horribly inefficient for Heaven. What with three archangels being here, and the Metatron apparently being indisposed with existential dread, Aziraphale could just imagine all the work that wasn’t being done.

He smiled a terrible smile that he could never have gotten away with if he looked like himself.

Then he closed his eyes and stepped into a lovely, soothing bath.

How terrible it must have been for the archangels, how terrifying to witness something they had no answer for. None of them said a word, but Gabriel decided that the situation warranted breathing, at least long enough to gather air for a gasp.

“You see?” Aziraphale slowly blinked his eyes open. “What is this, if not ineffability?”

“It has to be God’s plan...” Michael said. “Doesn’t... it?”

“Do you think Aziraphale knows something we don’t?” Uriel asked.

“Six thousand years gripped by the Serpent’s coils and he hasn’t Fallen,” Gabriel muttered. “Maybe he does.”

* * *

It was the sixty-first day of the rest of the world, and Aziraphale and Crowley were safe on Earth. Neither Heaven nor Hell had seen fit to seek either of them out again. There was nothing otherworldly to trouble them; indeed, the only thing remotely unusual was the sudden influx of nightingales hanging around Berkeley Square.

They met at the Ritz at nine precisely, ready to enjoy dinner and each other’s company as usual. They had barely been seated, however, when their attention was drawn to another table.

“It’zz weird,” Beelzebub said. She was wearing a dress and looked far less fly-bitten than usual. She picked up a spoon and glared at it.

“Oh, no,” Michael said. “No, here.”

She slid a fork into Beelzebub’s hand. Their fingers accidentally brushed against each other’s, but neither flinched with disgust.

“It’s just a business dinner,” Gabriel said. He had gotten a new suit for the occasion, and it was even store-bought. “Humans came up with the idea.”

“That’zz why it’zz weird,” Beelzebub said. “I did not exzpect an earthly invitatzion from angzelzz.”

“We’ve been making some adjustments in upper management,” Michael said. “What with times changing and all.”

“Uzz azz well,” Beelzebub said. “Should we compare notezz?”

“Just for efficiency’s sake, of course,” Gabriel said.

“Of courzze,” Beelzebub agreed.

Crowley quickly looked away. Something like hope pulsed through him. It almost took an apocalypse, but Heaven and Hell were finally catching up with Earth.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said slowly, turning his gaze from his wine to the demon. “Do you ever feel like getting out of the city? Perhaps slowing down for a century or so?”

Crowley smiled.

“Yeah, angel,” he said. “I think I’d like that.”


End file.
